


Eau

by prayed



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prayed/pseuds/prayed
Summary: Hannibal has the sense of smell of a dog.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	Eau

**Author's Note:**

> Taking place at the end of season 2 and beginning of season 3. Mild spoilers.

With Hannibal’s sense of smell, Will’s jacket held up to his face is as good as having Will actually be there with him— if he closes his eyes just for a moment.

The smell of encephalitis, pills, dogs, meat, gunpowder, sweat, cold water. . .

And of course, cheap aftershave.

All bound up in that scent only Will has, the heat of his body and the curls of his hair. 

On a molecular level, Hannibal wonders what the scent would say about him, if anything. If it would speak about Will’s nutrition, stress, genetics, and on and on, until you got so deeply lost in the information that you could read his thoughts.

The scent fills Hannibal as if he were an empty bottle of perfume, created solely to hold it inside him. It penetrates him as he imagines Will’s bullets would, sinks deep in his gut as he thinks Will’s dead flesh could.

He jerks off to it. He imagines his mouth full— of Will. 

But Will pushes him away, even as he bites his lips and breathes a shaky groan. Even as he frowns deeply and bows his head, and Hannibal almost chokes at his sudden movement. 

He can lie if he wants.

Will could do anything, always such a surprise, but still— still, he would smell so sweet. He succeeds in stirring starvation from Hannibal even so far away, blood in dark water for Hannibal’s shark’s nose to find. Surrounding him, enveloping him. 

He imagines he’s full, full of that scent, or dead meat, or bullets, or full of hot fluid— in his mouth— 

Deep in his throat. He finishes at the thought.

He imagines Will gasping for air as well; empty. Empty.

Hannibal holds the jacket in his hands and turns it over to the stains he had been ignoring. He can do anything if he puts his mind to it, but forgetting this was difficult even for him. 

It’s filthy.

His blood is already on it. His blood and the blood of many friends has touched it, leaving dried, stinking crusts inside like giant scabs. A tapestry of all the lives that touched him.

After a wash, much-needed, it won’t smell like anyone anymore.

It’s inevitable.


End file.
